


Faunlet, Incarnating in Another

by Sp00py



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Crying, F/M, Force-Feeding, Forced Clothes Wearing, Forced Nudity, Forced Relationship, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pseudo-Incest, Six is the hero we need, Stockholm Syndrome, Vomiting, child grooming, literally everything is nonconsensual and forced? why is Forced Everything not an option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: The timelines are skewed, just enough to afford a new outcome. The Runaway Kid arrives in the Residence a few days early, and the Lady decides on a different fate for him.
Relationships: The Runaway Kid/The Lady (Little Nightmares)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	Faunlet, Incarnating in Another

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from Lolita so u know. that's a thing.

The flashlight bobbed over splinters of glass like stars, over bloody footprints wandering aimlessly. It was so cold, RK could see his own breath. He was panicking. Okay. Good to know that. At least the cold distracted him from the lacerations all over his soles from the gazillion broken mirrors.

A shift of cloth, and he spun, body hunched in close, flashlight searching for the perpetrator. For the Lady. RK was in a place he shouldn’t be. He had seen something he absolutely shouldn’t have. Right now, the Lady was just playing with him, but soon she’d grow bored. Soon, she’d kill him. Or worse.

Another flutter, just outside of the flashlight’s beam. Mannequins rattled. RK ran blindly.

A dead end. RK paced the wall, searching for any crack or crevice, any place he might be able to hide. More broken mirrors. She really hated mirrors. Or really loved to break them, given the amount she owned. He’d seen her reflection, strange and lumpy, so unlike what she really looked like. She’d seemed upset by whatever weird lie they'd both seen. RK shivered, the cold sapping his energy, muddling his thoughts.

Mirrors. Mirrors everywhere. He saw himself splintered and shattered over and over as he stumbled across yet another broken one. RK couldn’t run or hide. Could he reason? Were adults something to be spoken to, like rational children?

Another room. RK dragged himself across, hoping maybe  _ this one _ would lead to freedom. He tripped -- no, something had tripped him. His flashlight fell and flickered, then died. The cold turned to ice, and the floor vanished beneath him as he struggled frantically against shadows and pain and fear.

The Lady, her white mask like a full moon, loomed from the darkness, hands outstretched, manipulating RK as though his body was just a puppet and her shadows were his strings. He struggled just to breathe as she came closer.  _ Survive _ .

Mirrors, mirrors -- 

“You’re very pretty!” RK choked out, hands scrabbling futility at the shadows trying to strangle him.

They receded, but only enough that he could breathe. He still hung like meat on a hook, feet swaying and dripping blood. It was so unnatural to just be floating. RK’s stomach flopped, then flipped, as though trying to figure out which way was up.

The Lady's head tilted, contemplating his pathetic struggles.

“What did you say?” Her voice was low and smooth, like a heavy blanket, but one with needles sewn inside.

Oh god, what  _ had  _ he said? He’d not really been thinking, too busy dying.

“You’re… you’re very pretty. Ma’am.” That was what you said to be polite, right?  _ He was talking to the Lady _ . RK had just wanted to see the sun. How had things turned out so wrong?

She drew him closer, and RK made a concerted effort to not throw up on her as the world lurched. That would  _ not _ be polite.

He couldn’t feel his fingers or feet, and the manacle had become an amorphous pressure pulling him down. Soon her porcelain mask overwhelmed his vision. A slender hand rose and pulled it off. Her face was as unblemished as her mask, lips and eyes perfectly outlined in makeup. No sunken eyes or sagging jowls.

“Am I?” she asked, the affected smoothness softening just a little in ways RK didn’t understand or like.

He nodded frantically.

Her hand rose, and RK flinched, but all she did was slip a perfectly manicured nail under his chin and lift his face, making him look directly at her. “Use your words, dear.”

“You’re very pretty.” Shit. RK had already said that. His mind whirled, trying to figure out how words even worked, much less which words the Lady wanted to hear. “You have nice eyes, and pretty lips and… your hair looks soft… and... and ”

She set him gently on the ground. He was expecting to be dropped, if anything, so RK took that as permission to stop rambling. His legs lasted all of five seconds underneath him before he collapsed. The Lady slipped her mask back on and knelt. Her fingers touched one of his feet, and came away with blood on their pale tips. RK pulled his legs tighter to himself.

“You’re hurt.”

RK looked very intensely at the floorboards. He managed a weak nod, and suddenly he found himself scooped up into her arms, the voluminous silk of her kimono literally the softest thing he’d ever felt. What was happening?

Instead of the terrifying swooping she’d done before, the Lady glided with conscientious movements out of the hell of mannequins and broken mirrors. RK lay still as a corpse in her arms.

She deposited him on the edge of a vanity (mirror also broken), then disappeared again. RK swung his legs nervously, wanting to just bolt, but recognizing that was a very, very bad idea after he’d somehow not been murdered. His eyes roved around the room. He’d been set down amidst pots of fragrant colors and combs. Across the room on a dresser was an array of dolls, all without clothes and varied heads that didn’t look anything like kids to RK, but reminded him of those shadow children. He didn’t like how they seemed to be staring at him with glassy bright eyes.

The Lady came back and he dropped his gaze to contemplate the ornate rug, just in case he hadn’t been supposed to be looking around. She set down a cloth and a bowl of water beside RK, then sat on the stool and took one of his feet in her hand. He had thought the Lady was too fancy to touch children, but there was his dirty, bloodied foot against her pristine palm. She began to wipe a damp cloth over his feet from heel to toe, gently buffing away the grime. The gestures, though gentle and harmless, made his every nerve shiver like spider legs were crawling over him, and his toes curled and uncurled as he forced himself to not yank his foot away. He didn’t like this game, whatever it was.

She hummed as she worked, picking out bits of glass, loosening blood old and new, until his feet were clean and the cuts had stopped oozing.

“Well?” the Lady prompted, once a few seconds of silence had ticked by.

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” RK mumbled, frantically trying to recall the few times he’d ever seen the Lady before, when the Janitor made the kids line up and say practiced lines and bow or curtsy. He’d never been in those lines, but he’d watched. She’d always swan in, ignoring most of the kids, then pick one and leave just as gracefully, silently, and terrifyingly as she’d arrived. Nobody envied the chosen child, but everyone mourned.

She patted his head, then stood, and picked him up once more as easily as carrying one of her dolls. RK hated how he was just being handled and picked up and set down, like he wasn’t a person. But he didn’t want to risk upsetting the Lady. He’d choke down his emotions and bide his time to escape. He was good at that. There was a reason he’d been shackled, after all, and even that hadn’t stopped him.

The Lady set him down again, this time on a stool with a soft, cushiony top that she propped him up on until he stood on his own.

“You’ve been all over my Maw, haven’t you?” she tutted as she reached for his collar, and unzipped his top. RK forgot how to breathe. His tiny fists clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to push her hands away and zip it back up. She slipped it off his shoulders, and then, holding it between two fingers like it was diseased, flicked the top into a waste basket fancier than trash cans had any right to be

RK’s lack of response didn’t bother her, as she simply went to work on his pants. Adults undressing him was nothing new, since children rarely got a say in when they had to shower or go to the kitchens, but this was the scariest adult he knew. She dragged the pants down, and he instinctively reached out for her shoulder for support as one of the legs caught on his manacle, and she began to work it over the metal. RK jerked his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove.

Far too soon, his pants joined his top. RK wanted to curl up and protect as much of his exposed skin as he could, but that meant doing something the Lady hadn’t indicated she wanted, so he just stood there, breathing forcefully through his nose, at war with his own body.

She took his small hand in hers, and he hopped off the stool to be led over to the bathtub. RK’s head didn’t even come to the lip. He took a fearful step back, not wanting to get into something he couldn’t easily get out of, only for the Lady to make the decision for him, simply picking him up and depositing him in the water. He yelped at the sudden wetness, expecting icy cold and getting instead a pleasant warmth. He flung his arms over the edge to keep himself upright.

The Lady laughed like bells, and RK blushed. The tub wasn’t completely full, making his panicked flailing all the more pointless. He would really have had to try to drown in here. Gently, she pushed him to sit in the tub, where the water only reached up to his bellybutton. The tub was so big and echoing once he was inside.

RK stared at the bit of metal underneath the faucet, imagining it as a startled face. Same, tub. Same. The Lady left once it was clear he wasn’t going to figure out how to drown himself, then came back in a less fancy white and blue robe, sleeves and hair tied back, mask removed. She scooped up some water in a cup, and poured it over RK’s head, then worked her fingers through his hair. Rinse. Repeat.

Soap joined, and she told him to close his eyes as she worked it into a lather that trickled down his face. Her fingers were careful and delicate, undoing knots, scratching lightly at his scalp. The warmth of her skin, the heat of the water, unsettled him after knowing the chill of her shadows.

RK had been bathed before, but never like this. It was all cheap bars of soap and rough cloth and a frantic speed to use what ice water they were splashed with before they didn’t have it, older children getting the younger as clean as they could before looking after themselves. He would take that any day over whatever this is.

More water poured down his face, then the lady began to scrub gently at his body with a soft cloth full of smelly foam. RK thought it was supposed to smell good, but it was so strong it just made him sneeze as the bubbles popped near his nose.

“Bless you,” the Lady said. RK looked up, brows furrowed, having no clue what that was about, and she tapped his nose with her fingernail. “We want to keep your soul right where it is.”

That answered exactly nothing, but felt almost like a threat, so RK was just going to pretend that made sense to him. He returned his attention to the ever increasing bubbles, mixing with the greyish bathwater washing off of his body. While he pretended very hard the Lady wasn’t scrubbing all down his apparently ticklish sides, he tried to capture some of the bubbles, but they all popped between his palms.

He went taut as a tripwire when she dipped between his legs. That felt very wrong, but she didn’t even hesitate, rubbing at his inner thighs and groin. Then she was on to his lower legs, as though nothing was wrong. Maybe nothing was. It was just washing. Or everything was, because it was the  _ Lady _ washing him.

She paid especial attention to the manacle around RK’s leg, sending those creepy crawly sensations all up his spine in waves that even the warmth of the water couldn’t banish. She could take it off. She was the most powerful person here. Instead, the Lady just slipped her fingers curiously between it and his skin, working loose the thicker layers of crud that had built up over time. She forced the cloth through, next, and dragged it around, until RK’s ankle stung a little with how clean it was.

“Stand,” the Lady said as she pulled the plug’s chain and the water swirled down with great, guzzling noises. RK shivered in the cooler air, until she splashed him with fresh water, then helped him out and wrapped him in towel fluffy and large enough to entirely engulf him.

RK wanted to cry, which was a weird reaction to being clean and warm and cozy. But everything about this was weird and uncomfortable. RK knew he’d just have to endure because the other option was worse. At least he was alive, now. He wished she’d at least  _ explain _ what she was doing, though, instead of leading him here and there with barely a word.

The Lady ushered him into a room full of dolls and clothes, again without explanation, and maneuvered him until he was standing on another stool with three mirrors to one side, all covered with cloth. Probably broken, too. When she tried to take the towel, RK’s fingers clenched instinctually around it.

“Come now, dear. You’ve nothing I haven’t seen before,” the Lady admonished. RK immediately let go, terror spiking through at the danger he was sure he didn’t imagine in her tone. His hands fluttered awkwardly in front of him as he fought the urge to cover himself lest she take offense to that, too.

When his arms settled stiffly at his sides, she nodded, then turned to regard the rows upon rows of clothes. RK stared with the intensity of a cornered animal as she wandered, humming tunelessly, fingers dancing over more colors and types of fabric than RK even thought existed.

She returned to him with several options draped over her arm. Thus began the very strange and uneasy process of her holding outfits up to him, contemplating them, then tossing them aside for another, and another, and another.

RK shifted from one foot to the other, his soles aching from a dozen cuts. He didn’t know how long this would go on, and he was cold, and scared, and she just  _ kept grabbing clothes _ . He blinked blearily as blank terror gave way to a deep, lingering dread. He’d been running for so long. Been hurt and hunted, adrenaline always pushing him onward. But now, as he just stood, the adrenaline faltered, faded, and his eyes grew heavy.

The first few yawns RK was able to hide behind clenched teeth and carefully timed exhalations when the Lady turned away, but soon enough he slipped.

The Lady stilled, and RK realized belatedly what he’d done, mind an exhausted muddle. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, only to be interrupted by another yawn.

“Children do need their rest,” she said fondly. “You should have told me you were feeling sleepy, Ningyō.”

RK squinted up at her as she turned away again, trying to figure out what that last word was. “Okay,” he mumbled, planning to neither tell her anything she might not want to hear, nor be here long enough to have to.

She returned to him and pulled something white and frilly over his head, helping his arms through the long sleeves as though he had no clue how to dress himself, before buttoning up the front and tying tight a ribbon woven through the high collar. RK swallowed at the noose-like feel.

He fully expected to be taken by his hand and walked wherever the Lady wanted, since now he could clearly stand and walk on his own. Instead, she swept him up into her arms once more, cradling him like a baby against her chest. She was so warm and soft, with only one layer between the two of them. RK could practically feel her heartbeat. He hadn’t expected an adult to have a heart.

The Lady swept him into her bed, large and infested with pillows. She settled back against them, and shifted RK to her lap, one hand supporting his back as he warred with growing panic and weariness. A shadow fell, something glinting -- he jerked. Oh that was her other hand, wielding a comb. RK tried to stay aware of everything she was doing, but she’d begun to hum again and the comb worked gently through his hair. He fought his own body, because this was the  _ Lady _ , but she was just taking care of him. Brushing his hair, rocking him like the Maw itself was holding him. He almost imagined he could hear the blood rushing through her veins like water through the pipes. It reminded him of his lumpy bed and the cold metal of cages. It reminded him of home.

RK realized with tired surprise he’d turned his face into her side, thumb firmly in his mouth. It wasn’t long after that that he finally lost the fight and succumbed to sleep.

He woke to a room cold, dark, and silent. RK had been placed on top of the bedding, right in the middle of the mattress, the nightgown he’d been put in fanned out around him. Oh, he did not like that at all. It felt like being the main course of a meal. He flopped over onto his stomach and wriggled his way through a mountain of pillows to freedom.

RK fell off the edge of the bed, into a sprawl of pillows that he’d taken along for the ride. This was his chance. He felt it in his gut (or was that hunger? How long had it been since he’d eaten?). He had to get out of here.

He righted himself and crept toward the door on tiptoes, eyes scouring the shadows for any flutter of cloth or glint of a mask. It wasn’t just him and the Lady here, after all. Those creepy, tragic shadow kids who couldn’t even handle a bit of light were probably all over. What if she did  _ that _ to him?

He leapt for the doorknob, caught it. It didn’t turn. Locked. He’d dealt with worse obstacles. RK abandoned the door for now, and set about finding all the lamps and switches, flooding the room with light. He needed to see, and he needed to not be disturbed by the shadows.

No vents, no loose boards in the walls or on the floor. RK made quick work of finding what  _ wouldn’t _ work. He threw the pillows back up onto the bed, then crept underneath it. The Lady would have to return for him, and if he could slip out without the Lady’s notice….

RK curled up, eyes on the door, waiting. He didn’t realize there was a mask floating right next to him for an embarrassingly long moment, and once he noticed the first, he realized there were others, all cold and blank, children curled up under the bed to hide from the monsters just like him.

He crawled right back out, heart pounding in his throat, choking down the yelp that wanted to escape. They hadn’t made any move to grab him, but he remembered their clawing, icy fingers, their desperate need for his life. He remembered killing, he was pretty sure, their friends. They stared out from under the bed at him, and he stared right back, then scanned for other hiding spots. Everywhere there were shadows there was at least one mask, and everywhere there was light was too open.

RK climbed back up into the bed and situated himself roughly where he’d been before. He hoped this was the right call, but he didn’t see many other options open to him now. When the Lady returned, RK was dozing right where she’d left him, draped over a pillow. He startled awake at the feel of fingers on his head. Falling asleep hadn’t been part of his plan.

He rubbed at his eyes, then settled his gaze somewhere near the Lady’s left shoulder. She was wearing one of her fancy robes, but looser and more casual than the one he most often saw her in.

“The lights are on,” she said neutrally.

Oh. RK hadn’t even thought to turn them off. Internally, he berated himself for forgetting something so obvious. “I got scared,” was all he actually said.

The Lady sank down on the bed, and waved for him to come closer. RK really didn’t want to, but what was he going to do, tell the Lady no? He liked being alive.

She pulled him into her lap and rested her arm around his waist as he straddled her, small fingers curling on the cord around her waist for support. This was not a comfortable position, and with his legs splayed, it was hard to forget she’d not provided him any underwear.

“There’s nothing scarier than me here, my Ningyō,” the Lady tutted as her other hand carded through his hair.

“I know, ma’am,” RK said to the wide obi.

Her fingers traced down his face, to his chin, and once more he found himself forced to look at her. The mask was lifeless and gave nothing away about her thoughts.

“You can call me mother, dear. Did you have one before?” She took off the mask, revealing a face equally inscrutable.

RK had no idea how to process that, so simply didn’t. If the Lady wanted him to call her his mom, he’d do it. Anything to survive.

“N-no, ma’a-- mother,” RK quickly corrected, the word feeling absolutely alien on his tongue. “I haven’t.”

She began to trace his face with her fingers, nails ghosting over his eyelashes, sending an involuntary shudder through him. He waited for her to hurt him for that, but she simply lingered on his cheek. RK licked his lips nervously.

“I’ve had sons and daughters,” the Lady said. “But they didn’t work out. Too rebellious, too ugly no matter the pretty clothes I put them in or the time I spent on their faces. Too ungrateful.”

The silence after that rang out, and RK gasped out a fearful little, “I’m sorry.”

Satisfied with that, the Lady continued stroking his face, tracing his cupid’s bow and the trembling of his lower lip. “You already look like a beautiful porcelain doll, though. That’s why I call you Ningyō. My lovely little doll.”

Ningyō. A name, then? RK had never had a name before. He was always just the runaway, or the kid, or any number of muttered insults. He didn’t like this name. But he better be grateful.

“Thank you, mother.”

The Lady pulled his chin a little higher and dipped her head, painted lips brushing over RK’s. He held his breath, not sure what was happening as the pressure increased just slightly. When she finished, she sat back, thumb tracing over his mouth.

“Your skin is so soft, Ningyō, despite everything you’ve been through. Children are so resilient.”

RK wasn’t about to talk with her thumb pressed to his lips like that, so just made some squeak of agreement. The Lady’s hand retreated. The memory of her touch tingled. RK licked his lips to try to get rid of it, and tasted lipstick.

“Let’s get you dressed for the day,” the Lady announced, pulling RK along. Now he was allowed to walk, trailing after the Lady’s much longer and practically skating steps.

Back to the closet room, the stool. The Lady tugged at the ribbon, undid the buttons, and pushed RK’s gown off his shoulders. It fell in a puddle at his feet. He tried not to feel completely exposed as a breeze ghosted across his naked skin when the Lady left to contemplate outfits.

Again, he stood there, hunger and muscle aches setting in, until she settled on a white and blue sailor’s outfit. RK let himself be dressed layer by layer, then sat on the edge of the stool as the Lady slipped tall socks up to his knees, one worked underneath his manacle. RK wasn’t going to suggest she could just take it off, because the Lady probably already knew that, so was keeping it on for… whatever reason. RK didn’t want to know.

He sat still like the doll the Lady said he was, staring off at the splintered remains of a mirror. He barely recognized himself, and the clothes against his skin felt too smooth, too fine.

The Lady slipped a pair of shoes onto his feet and tightened the buckles, then knelt behind him to brush his hair into some semblance of order. Once it was all brushed out, it feathered down over his eyes and around his face, tickling his jaw. A hat tied with a ribbon and pins to his head, and he was done. He hoped. He was not used to sitting still for such a long time, and he was getting an antsy itch between his shoulder blades. He needed to be planning for escape. He needed to be searching out every nook and cranny. Instead, he sat there, mind a terrified blank, as the Lady played dress-up.

She stepped back and admired her work. “I think today we shall match, Ningyō.”

She kept saying that name, as though by sheer force of repetition RK would accept it as his.

“Okay, mother,” he said numbly. Maybe while she was off changing her own clothes, he could sneak out, shed these uncomfortable shoes and constricting socks. Disappear again into the vents and corridors of the Maw, which were so much safer and more familiar than this cozy, cloying home.

RK wasn’t expecting her to reach for her sash and slip the robe from her shoulders in one graceful motion. His hands flew to his eyes, before he could catch a glimpse of more than a bare shoulder and pale hip.

The Lady laughed again, and cool fingers wrapped around RK’s wrists, gently tugging his hands away from his eyes. “Are you ashamed to see your mother naked?”

“N-no,” he answered immediately, with just the barest tremor of fear, eyes downcast. His face was burning up. He didn’t want to look. He wasn’t supposed to. That was how it worked, he thought. “I just…” What do you even say to that sort of question? RK knew nothing of mothers, but he knew how he felt. Discomfort. Embarrassment. Fear. All things he could never utter. So what did he say? What  _ could _ he say? There wasn’t anything, was there? Oh no. “I just…” A tear slipped free, then another, then they were falling like a leaky pipe.

He just wanted to live. He hadn’t signed up for this nightmare made out of soft touches and sweet words and soul-crushing darkness. He didn’t want to be on the Maw. He missed the sun, though he wasn’t even sure he’d ever actually seen it before.

Fingernails dug into his chin, wrenching his head up far more roughly than the Lady had ever been so far. Except when she’d nearly killed him. Was he going to die?

“Stop crying!” she snapped, shaking RK for good measure. The pain just made him sniffle more, even as he tried to choke it down. Why was this what made him sob? Not the children murdered before him, not the hunting or the hiding? But the illusion of kindness weaponized by the worst monster of them all?

“I’m sorry,” RK cried, and he swore he was making every attempt to do just that, because he didn’t want to die, but the tears just kept dribbling down his face. “I’m sorry, mother, I’m sorry!”

She let him go as abruptly as she’d grabbed him, and RK fell off the stool, scraping his knees on the ornate rug.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, curling up on himself, cringing away as the Lady pulled her robe back on and stood over him.

“Get up, boy.”

RK started to get up, but it was slower than she liked, so she grabbed his arm and dragged him painfully to his feet. He’d never worn shoes before, and tottered dangerously as he tried to adjust to the new height and tightness, and not sob even louder, and not give in to the urge to just blindly run and pray for the best. The Lady pulled him along, giving him barely any time to get his steps sorted.

With so much less care than she’d shown before, she set him on the vanity again. The bowl of water or one similar was there, full of cold, stale water. RK shivered and whimpered, already feeling the onset of new aches underneath his fancy clothes. The Lady dipped a cloth in and began to scrub roughly at his face, leaving red, irritated skin in her wake.

She was talking, but RK couldn’t tell if it was to him or about him. “Ugly little beast,” the Lady muttered, dipping and rubbing again. “Crying at the mere idea of -- ! Ungrateful, uncouth…”

“I’m sorry,” RK kept on saying, as though it were a spell that might save him.

“Be  _ quiet! _ Children should be seen and not heard.”

RK instantly shut up. Not a peep, never again if it meant he survived this.

When his face was scrubbed raw and sensitive, the Lady patted it dry. RK barely dared to breathe as she began to dab little spots of some chemically, cold goop onto his face, under his eyes and across his forehead. Then she smeared it all around with a little sponge, followed by a brush full of some sort of shimmery powder that clouded in the air and made his nose itch.  _ Don’t sneeze. Don’t sneeze _ . Frantically, RK twitched his nose and snorted, trying to get the tickly feeling out.

Another powder, brushed across his cheeks, then something else, and something else. RK didn’t know what any of the things being put on his face was, but the experience went on for an agonizingly long time. All the while RK tried not to cough or sneeze or cry or shudder at every movement that might threaten pain.

“Relax,” the Lady said sharply as she began to jab things around his eyes. RK thought that was asking the impossible, but he did his best to not scrunch up in fear of sudden blindness. Eventually, she stopped doing stuff, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. Her fingers, much more gently, mindful of the makeup more than his well-being, tilted RK’s head up. A paintbrush was dragged across his lips, over and over. All he could smell was a fresh but chemical mingling of scents.

By the time she was done, RK was trembling minutely all throughout his body. His reactions to her confused him. The tears, the shaking, far more than he’d shown against any other adult. She wasn’t hurting him, anymore. And she’d overall hurt him far less than any other adult. But she could, and RK knew it’d be the worst thing anyone’d done to him without even knowing the specifics.

“Open your eyes, Ninygo.” Her voice was soft again, coaxing. RK opened one, then the other. The Lady stood there, looking as she always did. Composed, despite her hastily thrown on robe. She contemplated him, then brushed aside a lock of hair. It immediately fell back into place. RK barely contained his flinch.

“Lovely. Now, no more crying.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I have to go prepare for the feast. Will you be a good boy? No turning on lights or trying to escape?”

Oh. She knew about that. Of course she did. Her eyes were everywhere. RK nodded, and repeated, far more faintly, “Yes, mother.”

“Do you know what this is?” she asked, holding up a key.

This felt like a trick question, but RK dutifully answered that it was a key.

“Good. It’s not just a key, though,” the Lady said, handing it to RK. He had to use both hands to hold it. It felt icy cold and slick, unlike any key he’d felt before. “This is my master key to all the Maw. There is only one, and many doors have no other key but this. Including the elevator doors, which I will lock while I’m out.”

“Oh,” RK said as she took the key back and slipped it into her sleeve. A key to every lock? He could think of a thousand locks he’d like to open. Suddenly, this wasn’t necessarily about just  _ his _ survival.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Ningyō,” she continued with a kiss to his forehead. “But I’d rather you not go about destroying vases and statues in the hopes of finding another.”

“I’ll be good.”

“I know you will.” The Lady brushed that same lock of hair back again, then swanned out of the room. It fell into his eyes again.

RK sat still, waiting for her to reappear. She didn’t. He waited a little longer, just to be sure. Was he… actually alone? As much as a kid could be on the Maw?

He turned on the vanity to squint into the dirty glass of one of the mirror’s splinters. Eyes still a little red, but everything else from his crying, from her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise and cut, was gone, buried under a layer of smooth foundation. He really did look like a doll, now. Blank and expressionless, wide eyes outlined in black, mouth shiny, and cheeks pink. At least he didn’t look quite so much like Six. That was a positive. Everything else was a very big negative. RK didn’t look like Six, but he didn’t look like himself, either. Or a living person at all. 

He made faces in the mirror until he felt more familiar with the caked on makeup, the unnatural smoothness under a silly little hat. Then RK slipped to the floor. There were shadow kids lurking around the edges of the room, his only company here. They weren’t attacking him, though they did make his skin crawl. He much preferred the Nomes and their unsettling, child-like shadows to these shadow children.

The Lady had said no escaping, but not forbidden just  _ wandering _ . He kicked off his shoes and found a length of ribbon to tie them to his waist, should he need to put them back on quickly, then slipped out the door. Some of the kids followed along behind him, keeping a wary distance, as though he was the one to be feared. They whispered, snippets of sentences and nonsense.

“ _ She sang to us _ ,” they said, like whistling wind.

RK crept along, trying to look only curious as he gauged every dark corner or towering stack of books for an out. Find an escape route, steal the key. A plan was coalescing slowly. Hunger gnawed at him and made it hard to really focus like he needed to, made his limbs shake. But he pushed on, until it passed, or sat and dozed and woke feeling a little better, the only indication that time had passed the distant chiming of clocks.

“ _ Locked us in.” _

He studied paintings as he passed, so many with sheets thrown over or tucked behind furniture. Some featured a yellow that made him start in fear, expecting Six but finding only paint. RK hated how that was just another thing to be afraid of. Adults, sure, but another child? He was lucky the Lady only seemed to care about his face, because his arms were littered with small scars from Six and her mean, unfair games.

At least she was somewhere far, far away in the Maw. Even Six wouldn’t dare come here. Only RK had been stupid enough to do that.

The other girl who featured most prominently in the pictures was, RK had to assume, her last child. She looked almost familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. Kind of a big nose, and flyaway hair, and a baggy dress. So many kids came and went. He must have seen her at some point, but just forgotten.

He didn’t want to meet so many kids that he forgot who they were when they died. RK needed that key. He’d save everyone he could. Then… then he didn’t know. The Lady would kill him, for sure. He’d never see the sun, but maybe some other kids could. They deserved the chance to at least  _ try _ .

“ _ Kept and cared, until… until… _ ”

Sometimes he’d pick up a tchotchke or open a book, skimming the pages, as he wandered and plotted, pretending to just be idly exploring. He didn’t like what the shadow kids were implying, that they were like him. These were the missing children, hand-picked by the Lady, dolled up, then… then turned. There were  _ so many _ . If she took them one at a time, how long did she keep them? How long had she been doing this? How long did he have to plan?

He hopped down from a chair and turned to the first one he saw. Their mask shifted to look a little to the side, far less brave now that they weren’t attacking him.

“I’m RK. What’s your name?”

“ _ Ningyō _ ,” they whispered, and others echoed the name. Some said other names, but none were unique. So they could talk like normal. Sort of.

“What were you before you were Ningyō?” he asked carefully, not wanting to scare them off despite the sinking feeling that she’d stripped them of something vital and intrinsic to them before giving them their masks.

“ _ Before… no before… We are hers. She sings. She -- she comes. Something is coming. _ ”

All the children disappeared, like ghosts. RK quickly put on his shoes and climbed back up onto the chair, yanking a book into his lap. He couldn’t read the words, but the pages were littered with all sorts of complicated symbols. As he heard the creak of floorboards and the chill of the Lady’s presence, he pretended to study the symbols. The Lady had done something horrible to those shadows, to children he once knew. It was hard to reconcile but that had to be true. Some of these were Cat and Milly and others RK never even knew the names off, who had come into the Maw, and now could never leave, not even in death.

“Ah, my Ningyō, I see you’ve taken to reading,” the Lady said, leaning her tall, willowy body far into RK’s personal space. She was so calm, like she’d not done anything before. Like there hadn’t been a single hiccough in her treatment of him. “And such esoteric texts, as well. Do you know what that word means? Esoteric?”

“No, mother.”

The Lady sat next to RK, who smushed himself into the arm of the chair, until she reeled him in and set him on her lap. “Esoteric means only a privileged few know about it. These are the secrets of the universe laid bare, Ningyō.” Her fingers traced over circles and stars. “The composition of souls, the ley-lines and transmissions that weave this world, all for the taking and manipulating. With it, I create order from chaos. Would you like to learn that?”

RK had zero clue what she was talking about, but the Lady seemed  _ very _ fond of her books. “Yes, please,” he said, staring very intently at what looked like a child sleeping or, more likely, dead.

The Lady nuzzled his cheek with the cold porcelain of her mask. “We can begin soon. For now, I need to bathe, and you need to eat. The kitchens always leave such a feel of grease on my skin.”

RK slipped from her lap as she stood, large book clutched to his chest. At a gesture to follow, he slid it back onto the chair, then tottered obediently after. The shoes made his feet hurt.

When she led him through the door he now recognized as the bathroom, RK’s stomach knotted. Why did he need to be here? Was this a punishment for crying before? Could he sneak the key while she was bathing and hide it somewhere? 

He looked directly at her knees as she stripped again, teeth clenched against any sort of negative reaction.

“Well?” the Lady asked as she turned on a showerhead, letting the water warm. “Aren’t you going to get ready for our bath, dear?”

Hadn’t he bathed just yesterday? Did… did the Lady do this  _ every day? _ Kids were bathed irregularly, ever since the Janitor took over, and even before that there were gaps. It seemed a little excessive to do it so much. Oh, she’d asked him a question. He reached shaky fingers to the first button at his throat, then the next, then the next, slowly shedding his shirt, his undershirt. The Lady just stood there and  _ watched.  _ Shorts, underwear. Hat and shoes and socks, until the only thing left was his manacle.

“Fold them,” she said, once RK was standing naked. No hiding a key now, even if he could get to it without her noticing, which was all but impossible. He quickly turned to this new task, glad to not have to look at her. Her gaze raked over him as he tried to get the seams to all lay at least somewhat presentably. Be grateful. Take care of the things she gave him. Don’t think about her staring. All too soon, the clothes were folded nice and tidy on the stool, the only thing he could reach easily.

The Lady called him over to her, and RK went as slow as he dared, until he was at the edge of the tub. She picked him up under his arms again and set him inside, where water fell like a warm rain.

As he stared down at his feet, the water filled slowly with lines of pink and black and beige. Soon a pair of slender, pale feet with deep red nails joined his. The Lady knelt and rubbed the makeup on his face until it melted faster, then the water ran clear.

“I’m sure things were very different for you before,” the Lady said in a calm, instructive way that made RK realize just how often she’d probably explained this. She continued cleaning him. “But now that you’ve begun to settle in, you must learn new routines. Every morning, we freshen up and get dressed. During the day when I am not tending the Maw, I will instruct you on reading, music, mathematics, and other skills my child must know. We shall bathe in the afternoon, eat in the evening, then you are free to entertain yourself until bedtime.”

“Yes, mother,” RK said, voice almost drowned out by the shower. We. So this was going to be every day? He had no say in anything? At least in the bowels of the Maw, the children were left almost entirely to their own devices. This level of control was already choking him.

The Lady pinched at his hip, dragging him back to the present. “You’re a good weight already,” she mused, then pinched his cheeks, next. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll make sure you don’t get fat lazing about all day. I’ll keep you pretty.” RK stared down at himself. This was what pretty was? Nothing but skin and bone and bruises from his travels through the Maw?

She changed the shower to the tub’s faucet, and sank down as it began to fill. RK was content to stand forever, but she hooked her leg around him and drew him closer to her. The Lady maneuvered him until he was sitting in a cage of long, pale limbs, back pressed to her stomach, held in place by the firm pressure of her fingers on his belly. The water rose, higher, higher, until RK was worried she’d let it go right over his head.

The Lady’s foot came up and pushed the faucet’s handle. The water stopped, lapping gently at RK’s lips. Her hair drifted around like slender black snakes, and he blew the strands away when they bobbed too close.

She wasn’t talking anymore, but her hands began to move in repetitive, idle motions, ghosting over RK’s ribs and down his legs. He stared straight ahead at that startled face bit of metal he’d noticed before. Did it like being a part of the bathtub? What were those gaps beneath it? Don’t think about her nails tracing the dips between bone, tickling the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Maybe it used to be a person, too. Could the Lady do that, turn people into hardware? He could feel the shapes of the Lady’s body, adult curves and female softness as she breathed against him. He should really give this poor bathtub kid he’d conjured into existence a name. 

The bath ended long after RK’s fingers had gone pruney. Pruney. Was that a good name? RK wanted to claw his skin off. Instead, though, he just let himself be picked up and dried off and taken to get a new outfit. This was his life now, and he wasn’t doing  _ anything _ to stop it. He couldn’t, he knew, but it felt slimy and traitorous to not even try to escape.

The Lady put him back into his nightgown, then cleaned his nails and brushed his hair. This  _ was _ him trying to escape, he reminded himself. He needed to bide his time, not make any stupid, rash decisions.

Dinner was a strange affair, as everything with the Lady was. No long, uncomfortable metal benches and children lined up single-file for slop and bread. A single plate was set out at a table that could hold a dozen dozen seats, but only had one tall, tilting chair. A steak with charlines and seasoning, some veggies and rice, all displayed with more care than RK ever thought could go into food. It smelled delicious, and that made his stomach clench. Hopefully this was the Lady’s meal, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t.

She set him on the table next to the food, and took the seat. RK folded his hands in his lap, crunching up the fabric to keep them from shaking. The Lady began to meticulously cut the meat and veggies into small portions.

“Open,” she said, holding a fork with a piece of asparagus speared through to RK’s lips. A vegetable. That was fine. He took it and ate it slowly, then swallowed.

Another piece. A bit of rice. Every bite he dreaded seeing the red, raw pulp of meat, feeling it pressed to his mouth. RK knew what went into the meat on the Maw. He’d seen the kitchens. He’d almost wound up there, himself. Adult, child, Guest, fresh and alive or rotting -- all were fair game to the chefs. Ever since his first escape, when he realized, he’d avoided even things that might just  _ look _ like meat. Even if that meant starving for that night, or days in a row.

The smell hit him first, warm and rich, then the sensation of a chunk of flesh both cool and warm and  _ wet _ . RK’s lips sealed shut tighter than the Maw when it submerged.

“Come now, Ningyō. You must eat.”

He did. He knew he did. He couldn’t cry or spit it out or tell her no. And RK didn’t want to find out just how impatient she was.

His jaw snapped open like on a spring, before he could think too hard about what (or who) was being shoved in. Barely chew. Swallow. Don’t puke. Don’t think.

The Lady nodded, then there was another piece of meat at his mouth, as though testing RK’s resolve. Eat. Swallow. Pray.

They got through several more bites of everything, before the Lady declared him done. There was still so much left, soaking in red juices, but RK wasn’t about to say anything.

“Always leave dinner a little hungry,” she instructed, setting him on the ground. She patted his head. “Now I know you’ve had the whole day to yourself, but as a treat I’ll let you play tonight, as well.”

“Thank you, mother.” As soon as he was dismissed with a wave of her hand, he ran from the room. He continued running, shadow kids flickering around him and trying to say things, until he found a dusty sitting room disturbed only by his footprints earlier. Someplace far away from the Lady. Somewhere secret, as much as it could be.

He fumbled at the lowest drawer of a dresser and barely got it open before he threw up. Barely chewed meat, bloody and raw, bits of rice and veggies. His body expelled it all until he was slumped on the drawer, dry-heaving weakly.

RK spit up the last of the taste, though couldn’t banish it completely, or the raw burn of acid in his throat. He struggled to close the drawer, then collapsed in a heap. His eyes stung, and his stomach hurt.

Eventually he roused himself, and looked around at the porcelain masks studying him. Could he tell them not to tattle? He assumed they reported back to the Lady, but maybe if he asked nicely or offered them something. What did shadow kids even want, anymore? Death?

“ _ Something is coming _ ,” they said, shifting uneasily. “ _ Six, Six…” _

RK sat up, all thoughts of bribery or murder gone. “Six?” he asked, trying not to let his nerves show. He wiped his sweat-sheened face with his sleeve. “She’s here?”

“ _ It sees us _ ,” they answered uselessly. “ _ It’s coming. Run, run, here comes--” _

RK darted past the shadow kids as they picked up a creepy little song. They ignored him, content to keep each other company. He needed to hide -- not from the Lady, this time. RK just didn’t want to be around when Six barged in. Let her and the Lady deal with each other.

He slid underneath a chair, lights off, a sheet that had been draped over it pulled down in front. RK had no illusions that this would actually save him from Six, because she had an unerring ability to find him, but he had to do something.

And so he hid, as the distant clocks chimed, as every movement and groan of the Maw sent his heart pounding.

RK heard humming before he heard Six’s feet tiptoeing. “Ningyō,” the Lady cooed, her shadow passing in front of his chair.

RK wanted to stay hidden, but the shadow kids would tell her, and he didn’t want to upset the Lady. Even if he suspected Six was creeping somewhere around here, too.

He crawled out from under the chair, patting off dust and fixing his hair, then stepped into the middle of the darkened room. All his instincts screamed to stay small, stay hidden. This was how stupid kids died.

“Mother?” he called out tentatively, shoulders hunched, hugging himself.

She swooped in from the darkness, and RK squeaked.

“There you are, my Ningyō!” the Lady said, picking him up. “I was wondering where you had gotten off to. Not causing trouble, I hope?”

RK shook his head frantically. “No, mother. I was…” What was he doing? Hiding from Six. “I was playing hide and seek.”

“I’m glad you’re playing with your siblings. So many just lay there and cried and,” the Lady cut herself off with a full-body shudder at the idea of crying. RK dreaded to think what she’d do if she ever found out about him throwing up in her drawer. “Let’s get you to bed.”

She ghosted through the residence, until RK was back in the bed. He wondered what new, invasive ritual she’d introduce now, especially when she didn’t join him.

The Lady left, then returned with a shiny metal comb that she held out to him. She sat with her back to him, pulling all her hair behind her. RK looked at the comb in confusion. Hadn’t she already brushed her hair? What was with adults and just constantly doing things they already did?

He sighed too quietly to be heard, and knelt behind the Lady to begin brushing the ends of her long, long hair.

“Are you enjoying life here?” the Lady asked.

“Yes, mother.”

“What brought you here?”

Oh, this was an interrogation. RK couldn’t tell her the truth, that he wanted to see the sky and sun at least once and got lost. That he didn’t want to be here at all, and almost regretted calling her pretty just to save his life. “I wanted to meet you,” he settled on. That was almost true.

“You did?”

RK was speaking before he’d entirely figured out his story, afraid she’d sense the hesitation. He moved higher, dragging the comb with zero resistance through her silky hair. “Yes, mother. I, uh. I saw you when you took kids. You were so tall and pretty. I -- I wished I was one of the kids you picked.”

“I don’t recall ever seeing you.”

Ah, finally something he could be honest about. “I wasn’t allowed to join the other kids, usually. The janitor kept me chained up. But I watched you through the gaps in the door.” He’d hated when that manacle was first wrapped around his ankle and bolted permanently shut. Now, it was simply a familiar unbalance, the single link he’d not managed to get off ringing and alerting adults to his position, something to be compensated for when creeping through the Maw.

“Ah. The little runaway.”

RK hadn’t been expecting her to know of him. He didn’t say anything in response, since that wasn’t a question.

“And you finally made your way up to me. If you had simply been good, I could have made it a much easier journey,” she said very pointedly. “I would have chosen you out of all the children.”

“I want to be good now,” RK mumbled, blinking back the urge to sleep. He was exhausted, after having done nothing for an entire day, and the repetitive movements, the fear, the card-tower of lies all ate away at his energy.

“I suppose good children don’t often last long,” she mused, as though he’d not said anything at all. “But clever children… You’re a very clever boy, Ningyō.”

“Thank you, mother.” His hands were getting tired, and he relished the moments where he wasn’t brushing hair because he had to climb to his feet to reach higher. Standing woke him up a little more.

“How old do you think I am?”

“Not old at all,” RK hazarded. Adults looked wildly different from one another, and he felt knowing their ages wouldn’t change that, so had no clue how to answer. He tried to think on Granny, and her withered, wet skin. “Your skin’s so smooth, and… and your hair is soft and dark, and your hands are pretty.”

The Lady laughed, and RK took that as permission to stop talking.

“You’re right, of course. But I am old, Ningyō. So old, I don’t remember not being old. I’ve always ruled the Maw, and I always will. But…” she trailed off with a sigh. “I am alone. The Guests are food and nothing more. The chefs, the janitor -- employees. Once, I had thought to share this, but he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Oh.” RK had no clue what she was talking about, except that being alone did suck. He supposed even adults got lonely. A strange thought for those who had all the power in the world.

“Perhaps you knew him? He was once the caretaker of the children.”

RK hadn’t thought of the man who’d come before the janitor in so long. He was just faint memories from years ago, and he dredged up what he could to reply. “He was tall and fancy.”

“That was him,” the Lady continued fondly. RK didn’t like this -- this _ humanizing _ . She was a monster. She wasn’t allowed to miss people, or feel lonely. “He was weak. You, though. You do what you must to survive. You’d never let death steal you from me, would you?”

“No, mother.” Could he stop brushing? His arms ached so badly. He just wanted to curl up and pretend he wasn’t starving, pretend he wasn’t in imminent danger at all times.

The Lady twisted, relieving him of the comb, and pulling him into her lap. Immediately, RK wanted to get back to the brushing.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re a good boy, Ningyō. You love your mother. You’ll grow up loving me. And I’ll teach you how you can stay with me forever. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” RK whispered. He couldn’t even pretend to have made that a convincing answer, with her squeezing him close, threatening him with adulthood and immortality, neither of which he wanted anything to do with ever.

The Lady peppered kisses on his face, over his eyelids and cheeks, lingering on his mouth in a way that felt decidedly  _ un _ familial. Her tongue licked at him for the faintest of seconds, then she sat back, a flush on her cheeks.

“You’ll grow up so lovely,” she said more to herself, the backs of her fingers stroking RK’s cheek. “My beautiful boy.” After a few more moments of touching him, of a pounding heart that  _ wasn’t _ RK’s right now, she laid him on the bed.

She cupped his face in her hands, and pressed one last kiss to his mouth. “Sleep, Ningyō. Tomorrow, we’ll begin your lessons.”

The Lady stood, and RK thought he could breathe again, until she paused at the door, and turned to regard him. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, mother.”

“I love you.”

“I - I love you, too.”

Then she was gone. The lock clicked. RK curled up on his side, right hand twisting into his hair, left thumb firmly in his mouth as he sought any comfort before he started to cry again.

He fell into an anxious, exhausted sleep, and woke again some time later to Six straddling him and pulling at his hair. He shrieked and flailed for anything to get her off. RK swatted her with a pillow. Six tumbled away with a laugh, then hit him with another pillow, much harder.

“Six --” she hit him again. “Six! Stop it --” again. RK caught that one, and yanked it back. “ _ Six _ ,” he hissed, eyes darting to the darkest corners of the room. Six held up a finger and shushed him, as though  _ he _ was being the problem here.

Normally, he’d be terrified of her, but RK was too distracted by the open door. The Lady was definitely the scarier one here. “We need to leave!” he whispered, grabbing Six’s hand. As much as he’d thought ill toward her before, he didn’t want the Lady to take a shine to Six, which he was absolutely sure she’d do. He knew what Six looked like, and he knew what  _ he _ looked like, and they could be twins. They weren’t, but they could be.

Six, surprisingly, let him pull her off the bed and to the door. No shadow kids around. Good. RK was probably risking not just his life but his soul for this spontaneous attempt at escape. And for Six of all people.

He tried to go left. Six tugged him right.

“This way out,” she whispered. RK… didn’t actually know how to get out, so took a risk and followed.

When they found themselves surrounded by more mannequins and broken mirrors and footprints that used to be bright red, but had darkened to almost black in the glow of Six’s lighter, RK realized something he really should have remembered. He couldn’t trust Six. His breath puffed.

“Ningyō!” the Lady shrieked, and suddenly Six was going a lot faster, dragging RK along. He barely saw the Lady’s white mask chasing after, surrounded with shadows. They slid under a dresser and out again in another room. Every mannequin was the Lady, every breath of air her magic. RK followed Six, because to separate now was certain death.

They broke into another room, and RK set to finding another path out. Any way forward. Six grunted behind him.

He whipped around, expecting to find Six in the Lady’s clutches, but instead she was wobbling under the weight of a mirror bigger than she was. It was unbroken and oddly dark. RK could see himself in it when she hopped down with it. He looked like he should, but everything felt off under his skin so it was like looking at a different person.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Gonna… Gonna do something.”

That was… less than comforting to know. Six had never been one to plan, unlike him.

“She hates mirrors,” RK offered, feeling oddly guilty, like he was betraying the Lady’s trust, even though the evidence was everywhere, and she didn’t deserve his loyalty. What was wrong with him? The cold must be getting to him. It felt so much worse in just his nightgown.

“Good,” Six said shortly, then ran back out into the other room. RK followed, wanting to stay close, but also terrified that Six had made herself an even bigger, brighter target. The Lady was standing in the middle of the room, in a faint halo of light.

RK hung back. He really should run, since the Lady seemed entirely distracted, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Six. He couldn’t leave  _ Six _ , not the Lady.

Darkness rushed in, and RK stumbled blindly to a wooden support, fumbling through mannequins. He touched one’s silken robe, and it shifted. Fingers, slender and cold as ice, trailed gently through RK’s hair, then something whooshed past, rattling the mannequins.

The Lady charged at Six, only to be flung back with a shriek that stabbed through RK’s heart. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to see Six die, or the Lady hurt. He sank down and covered his ears as another light flashed, another scream rang out.

“Stop it,” he whispered to himself, knees tight to his chest. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.” Nobody heard him, and they wouldn’t listen anyway. They never did.

More screaming that his hands didn’t block out, then the shattering of glass and the most violent cry yet. RK straightened. Six! He could -- maybe he could intercede for her. Use whatever good will the Lady might have left for him after running away. That way at least one of them would survive.

He stumbled out from behind the pillar, to a sight he wasn’t at all prepared for. The Lady was sprawled, her hair undone and spilling over her shoulder, breath coming hard. And Six…. Six was hunched over, but walking toward the Lady with unnerving intent.

“Ningyō,” the Lady gasped.

RK ran to her, because he was an idiot. But she sounded so scared and hurt. He thought adults were monsters, and they were, but even monsters felt things. Even they could suffer, and he didn’t want anyone to.

“Six!” he said as he crouched down beside the Lady, one hand on her bare shoulder (he tried not to pull away, reminded of the last time they’d touched skin to skin), the other supporting himself as he leaned forward to check for any injuries. He couldn't see any, but she was clearly in pain. What had Six even done to her? The Lady shifted just enough to cover his hand with her own. Six stepped forward, and RK glared at her. “Go away! She’s not gonna hurt you. You can just leave, okay?”

Six looked at him like he’d grown two heads. Her stomach growled, and she took another step, undeterred by his words. Her gaze shifted from him, to the Lady between them as she took in agonized breaths, then back to RK.

RK was sure that he was going to die right then. Six’s eyes were dark and intense, sizing him up not like a toy to hurt, but like food to devour. But then she returned her attention to the Lady, and before he could intervene, Six lunged. The Lady collapsed with barely a sound. Blood splashed across RK, warm and thick and so like his own.

Six tore, and tore, and tore, until the Lady’s death throes faded, and she died.  _ She died _ . RK had thought she couldn’t, that she’d live as long as the Maw fed, but now Six stood back, blood all down her front. The mannequins shook and toppled; the faint lights swung wildly, as shadows swirled around their new mistress.

RK watched in silent horror as a very new sort of monster was born.

Six looked at him one last time, then left, leaving a trail of footprints in blood that wasn’t her own. The mannequins stopped shaking, the cold dissipated. RK’s harsh breathing was the only sound.

RK stared down at the Lady. She still looked pretty, even with the makeup smeared by tear trails, with the blood congealing against her cheek and in her hair. The pool underneath her grew larger, until his knees were soaked. It was for the best she died. For all the children, though he doubted Six cared about that. Still…

She’d been lonely. It didn’t excuse anything she’d done, RK knew, but he felt bad. She’d just wanted someone to stay with her. RK could do that, for at least a bit more.

He lingered by the Lady’s cooling corpse several minutes longer, shivering in the air as it grew stale, like the entire Maw was dying around him. It was strange to think the Lady was truly gone, but whatever Six had done (what  _ had  _ she done? What was she?) had been absolute. All the esoteric books and paintings and clothes would molder away with nobody to care, after ageless years.

RK was free. All the children still alive were free. That was what that meant. He shouldn’t be sad, thinking on the dolls and makeup and masks. He had more important things to worry about. Gingerly, he reached into the sleeve of her robe, fumbling around for the little pocket that he knew had to be there. Her body was stiff, fingers curled as muscles cramped. RK really, really didn’t like having to move her around to grope for the master key.

Finally, he found it, and yanked it free. RK unstuck himself from the pool of blood and stumbled out into a better lit area. He looked down past all the blood to his manacle, as though maybe a keyhole would have magically appeared. A problem for another time. For now, he had to free the other children. He had to announce the Lady’s death, tell them it was safe. Not tell them that she’d died afraid and in pain and horribly, horribly  _ human _ .

RK could do this. Back down into the belly of the Maw. Then --  _ then  _ he’d go find the sun.


End file.
